One of these nights
by Pr0nHound
Summary: A sole Yautja finds himself on a hunt he never wanted to do.


"T'hac cla'c reh hiel, na'this ugh en om." Stated the cold electronic voice next to my head, groaning I tried to make sense of the words. Something like hunter beware two minutes till drop into the atmosphere. Sure, nice just let me sleep out, it's my day off.  
  
Hunter?  
  
Drop?  
  
H u n t e r?  
  
I opened my eyes only to stare into a double set of loudspeakers that incredibly chirping repeated the words this time with only a minute left. Shaking my head slightly they moved together into one. Bowing my head I looked down on me as good as I could, I was strapped securely into a cocoon of holding belts. From what I could see I wasn't wearing my usual pyjamas or a business dress but one of these slightly kinky looking hunters armours that are so in with today's youth on Th'rac'nal'pel.  
  
"Engo en om" clicked the voice, signalling me much too cheery that in less than thirty seconds I would plunge at spine breaking speed into the atmosphere of some world or the other.  
  
Frowning I shook my head and tried to remember the override sequence for these things. As my lower left mandible pulled a trigger I knew my facemask didn't have a day ago. The annoyingly chipper computer voice clackered: "Ungh, ni ug'js, ned, lta, reh hiel." (The plasmacaster is not available until the ship has come to a complete stop.)  
  
The urge to bang my head against the wall was cut short as some more restrains pulled my head into a secure positions and the ship was shocked my the entry into the atmosphere.  
  
*  
  
The small Yautja drone sank down onto the planed as a radiant shooting star, letting people make wishes in their silly little superstition for all possible and impossible stuff.  
  
On a small hut Jack Dum wished for a solution to all his monetary troubles, having taken money from a local money lender wasn't as good an idea as he thought after the sure fire tip on the racehorse had been more a very sure thing for the betting office at the local racetrack.  
  
*  
  
The holding straps snapped back one by one and the door opened with a hiss to let me step out dignified into the nightly landscape on this planet. At least that was the idea, I slouched forward, not knowing my ass from my head after the sharp drop, fell to my knees, scrambled back up, took another step and landed face first in a puddle of water. "Rig'I'tig'I nu." (SCUBA mode enabled) chirped the voice of the helmet.  
  
I scrambled out of the water and tried my best to ignore the message that the scuba mode now was disabled from the mask's computer, making a mental note to find the yautja that had programmed it and kick his green scaly ass.  
  
Fingering with my right hand along the rim of the mask I found the trigger to undo the pressure system and with a hiss the mask came from my face.  
  
When I saw my reflection in the water I swore that I never in my life looked this pale green. For a moment I fought the urge, but then I thought the better of it and hurled noisily into the small pond.  
  
That was the last time I went out for a friendly after work drink with that band of morons called my brothers. Getting me drunk with Ge'fo was bad enough but dressing me into a hunter's suit, sitting me into a drop ship and sending me the great crab knows where was definitely crossing the lines of a prank. It was even worse then the time when I woke up next to the seven hundred pound breeder for money female called Miss Wa'wa'wumm.  
  
For a moment I watched with a morbid fascination how a tiny golden water dweller was skeletised by the remains of the previous darkness circle that I had sprayed into its pond. Then I pressed the mask back on my face as I felt how the lack of methane on this planet triggered my asthma. Better than an inhaler this thing was I admit.  
  
Why me? I am an accountant, and with forty two life circles definitely too old for this kind of juvenile reproduction organs waving for halfwits and machos. Ok I admit when I was in college I acquired my mark on the forehead and became officially one of the blood, when I participated in a hunt on some Kainde amedha. But that was a youth sin, plus it really impressed the breeders.  
  
My head moved around as the sound amplifiers picked up some footsteps behind me but coming closer, only wincing slightly as the little voice announced: "Tig'hu. Nat'hu tac tac." (Mode changed to heat sensing for your comfort at the hunt.) And a red triangle zoomed in on a humanoid figure who stumbled closed to my position.  
  
He carried something is his hand, a long stick or something I couldn't quite make out. Squinting my eyes for a moment to identify the thing I suddenly felt very stupid. these things used to have a magnifier last time I checked (37 lifecycles back). Moving my lower left mandible I touched a dial and winced as a bright light pierced the night and the little voice chirped: "ni ug'js Ntah... moglö item note ugan'ta" (Plasma caster activated and shooting, making your day punk)  
  
*  
  
Jack Dum wasn't very happy, he had seen the shooting star growing bigger and bigger, almost wetting himself when the thing had crashed into the forest next to his little hut. So he grabbed a broom from his closet to investigate the situation, the small rat shaped part of his brain singing songs about the possible precious metals the comet could have carried to his grasp, and the fame and fortune he would make from it.  
  
When the bolt from the plasmacaster ripped the night and more importantly his chest apart all these little dreams were void all the sudden.  
  
But on the actual upside of events he also had no monetary problems anymore. Superstition might work in some strange ways, but fate loves a cruel joke as much as the next idea. 


End file.
